Thorg
by Zhenta
Summary: BGEE: The cautionary tale of Thorg the Half-Orc, who dismissed his thief and was sliced in two by a trapped treasure chest.
1. Shoplifting

"Unhand me this instant you pot-bellied hobgoblin!" howled Edwin as the red-headed blacksmith patted down his buttocks. "Of all the indignities that I have suffered in this foul pit of savages, this is unquestionably the worst!"

"Those darts of wounding were in the cabinet when you came in," snapped the dwarf, groping with unnecessary vigour at his inner thighs, "And now they're not. If I find them I'll be testing the whole batch on you, count on it!"

Edwin tried for the seventh time to explain to these morons that he did not have their darts, but the dwarves of Thunderhammer's smithy were having none of it. He even offered to pay for the wretched things anyway, just to end the pawing, but to no avail.

"Any luck Margoff?" asked Taerom Thunderhammer, his arms folded over his metal barrel of a chest.

"Nothing boss," she replied, stroking her long red beard thoughtfully. "Only one place left to search. Bend over wizard."

"I will not, vile woman!" exploded Edwin.

"Taerom, pass me the No. 4 pliers and a lantern," said Margoff, tying her long red hair back into a ponytail and rolling up her sleeves. "We're going in!"

"HELP ME!" screamed Edwin at the top of his lungs.

The door burst open, and framed in it was an enormous half-orc. He had to stoop to get his grey head into the smithy, and as he strode inside, suits of armour that had been hanging from the ceiling came crashing to the floor like cymbals. He grunted and stared around at the dwarves and wizard, tusks gleaming.

"What in the nine hells is going on?" he demanded gruffly.

"Thorg!" Edwin howled. "You have to help me! These mad dwarves think I stole some paperclips from them or something!"

"Did you just call my hand-crafted, triple reinforced steel darts featuring mithril plated tips and patented easy-grip side panels _paperclips?_ " Margoff bellowed threateningly.

"This was not part of our deal, puny one," warned Thorg, pointing an enormous finger at Edwin. "I kill your witch, you break wards on mad dwarf's tower. We no say nothing about no shoplifting!"

"I didn't do it!" wailed Edwin truthfully. "I don't have the darts I swear!"

"I try to help," agreed the half-orc reluctantly. "But they call Flaming Fist and Thorg run. Leave stupid wizard in shop."

He turned to the ginger dwarf Margoff who was staring at the oversized muscles on his arms with sparkling eyes. He bent down, practically onto all fours so that his face was on a level with hers. She blushed beneath her beard, ogling him enthusiastically.

"Darts cheap. You good blacksmith. Thorg buy big suit of armour. You let puny wizard go."

"Not a chance-" began Taerom, but Margoff cut him off.

"Now let's not be hasty!" she trilled. "Ten thousand gold pieces and I'll measure this one myself. Yummy!"

Thorg looked distinctly disconcerted but it was too late. Paying such an excessive sum for what was, in truth, quite mediocre armour, was not the worst part of this deal. Margoff had a thing for big men and the process of sizing him for armour turned out to be extensive and unnecessarily tactile. The stroking and petting was not limited to those areas of his anatomy directly involved in the fitting, nor did she seem to be noting down any actual lengths or circumferences.

"No," he was forced to say at one point. "You do not need to know the length of _that_ to make armour. Even Thorg know that."

Finally groped, prodded and thoroughly dishevelled (not to mention ten thousand gold pieces poorer) the furious orc and his wizard were turned loose into the streets of Beregost.

"Come back tomorrow to collect lover boy," purred Margoff. "And bring your muscles!"

Thorg shuddered. The pair hurried back to the Jovial Juggler where their thief, Alora, was waiting for them. With much wailing and moaning, Edwin began to recant his ordeal to her, while the halfling brought him a beer and massaged his shoulders.

"Why wizard complaining, was worse for Thorg," muttered the half-orc. "Feel dirty. Need bath."

"You want a bath?" sneered Edwin in mock-astonishment. "Well at least some good has come from this bestial business then."

"I know what will cheer you up Mr Grumpy!" beamed Alora. She reached down her top and rummaged through her ample cleavage. Edwin leaned forward excitedly. "Ta daaa!"

She pulled open her tunic a fraction to reveal a roll of green velvet wedged in the crack. Edwin seized it eagerly, allowing his hand to linger there under the pretext of feeling inside the package.

"Those had better not be what I think they are," growled Thorg suspiciously.

"These? They're nothing. Personal items," squeaked Edwin. "Thank you Alora for these lovely… er… intimate items that Thorg will not wish to see."

"They're not intimate items silly, I wouldn't show you those in front of Thorg!" laughed Alora. "These are those fancy new darts you asked me to steal from Thunderhammers', yes they are!"

A dangerous, rumbling snort like an angry bull, emerged from the half-orc. Edwin, in his Thayan robes, appropriately resembled a red rag. He got up, positioning his chair strategically between himself and Gorion's ward, and started backing away.

"Now Thorg, remain calm, a simple misunderstanding is all…"

"Alora, hand me one of those darts," Thorg growled menacingly. "And Edwin?"

"Yes?" gulped the wizard.

"Bend over."


	2. Ode to Thorg

"Good evening my lords and gentle dames. Settle with thine ale and I shall regale you with my latest piece, 'The cautionary tale of Thorg the Half-Orc, who dismissed his thief and was sliced in two by a trapped treasure chest.'"

The barman rolled his eyes and polished an empty tankard. It was gleaming, just like all the other cups. Business had been slow lately and he had hoped that allowing the gormless young lad to sing his soppy ballads would bring in more customers. So far it was not working. Garrick's 'lords and dames' consisted of an elderly and slightly deaf dwarf, whose semi-dependant relationship with alcohol had paid the tavern's taxes for the last five years, and a doe-eyed young thief whose shoes were worth more than the whole establishment.

Maybe he did have Garrick to thank for Skie's continued custom. She clearly had a thing for bards. She used to come in from time to time with that slimy one, Eldoth, but he seemed to have fled town for some reason. Now she just sat at the table they used to share and moped. To the new bard's mortification, his usual ballads had made her cry.

"What would you like me to play instead my fair maiden?" he had asked earnestly.

This had earned a snort of laughter from the barman. Judging by the demonic sounds she and Eldoth had made in their rented room, she was a long way from being a maid. It would not surprise him if those noises and his recent loss of customers were related.

"Sing something about adventurers," she had sighed. "I want to hear about a real-life hero. Someone tall and strong and good looking. But male."

Garrick had not composed any songs that precisely fit this specification, but he had vowed to depart to his room (which was actually a bale of hay in the stable) and compose one for her at once. The trouble was that he only really knew one adventurer. He had been tall and strong for sure, and though Thorg was decidedly not good looking, since the half-orc was long dead, he felt that it would be ok to use a bit of artistic license.

.

" _The half-orc Thorg, his courage burning,_

 _His eye to Durlag's tower turning,_

 _Greed and ambition fed his yearning,_

 _To loot the treasures locked inside._

 _Alas, therein our hero died._

 _._

" _Two friends joined him anticipating,_

 _His violent thirst for monster baiting,_

 _Would clear the way to riches waiting._

 _A thief joined him to trap disarm,_

 _A wizard to save him from magical harm."_

 _._

"This sucks!" heckled the dwarf. "Where's yer romance? Where's the human interest? I'm not emotionally invested in yer character, so why should I care if he died?"

"Romance! Right, ok," stuttered Garrick, panicking and resorting to some ill advised on-the-spot improvisation.

.

" _Alora and Edwin soon started mating,_

 _And Thorg, he found this irritating,_

 _But nowhere near as badly grating,_

 _As Alora's relentless need to talk._

 _For like a parrot she did squawk._

 _._

" _He hired her services without knowing,_

 _How the chatter would keep on flowing,_

 _Despite his irritation growing._

 _Her conversation did not impress._

 _Thorg kicked her out to her distress._

 _._

" _Alora followed whinging, wailing,_

 _Upon his heels chasing, tailing,_

' _Til Thorg declared he'd be impaling,_

 _The tiny and loquacious broad,_

 _Upon his double-handed sword."_

 _._

"'Broad?'" howled the dwarf, "Yer calling her a 'broad?' That's sexist that is! How are adventurers of the female persuasion supposed to circumvent the patriarchal gender stereotypes that limit the public recognition of their careers if bards like you go around referring to them as 'broads?'"

"I needed something to rhyme with sword!" spluttered Garrick desperately.

"Ford, roared, ignored, accord!" listed the dwarf. "BORED; which is what we are of yer bloody ballad!" He fist-bumped the barman.

"Please finish Garrick," smiled Skie weakly. "It wasn't quite what I had in mind but I was enjoying it."

.

" _He and Edwin onward questing,_

 _Their time, their skills, Thorg's life investing,_

 _In from the hand of Durlag wresting,_

 _The wealth abandoned long before,_

 _When Durlag quit this mortal shore._

 _._

" _Alas without a thief assisting,_

 _They found the tower most resisting,_

 _And yet Thorg carried on persisting,_

 _Despite the many deadly snares._

 _At last one caught him unawares._

 _._

" _A treasure chest Thorg was inspecting,_

 _Gold in his greedy eyes reflecting,_

 _Snapped shut, the hapless orc bisecting,_

 _His legs flopped down upon the floor._

 _His top half lost forever more."_

 _._

" _Then with the cowardly wizard fleeing,_

 _His red robes of Thay a-peeing,_

 _Our hero ceasing to be being,_

 _Learn from Thorg's brief and tragic tale._

 _Without a thief, your group will fail."_

 _._

Garrick lowered his lute and hung his handsome head mournfully. Without needing to be asked, the barman handed the dwarf a bowl of fruit, kept handy especially for this purpose. The dwarf took careful aim then hurled three of them at the bard in quick and (considering how much he had been drinking) surprisingly accurate succession.

"Three tomatoes?" said the barman in a surprised tone of voice. "That's generous. Personally I'd have given him two."

"I only had a day to write it!" protested Garrick. "And he was hardly inspiring material. Now were I to write a sonnet in praise of Skie's exquisite beauty…"

"No, I liked this better," said Skie. "Thank you. I don't think you'd better sing it again though."

"Why not?" frowned Garrick.

"The wizard in the song? Edwin?" she said, "He's in town. I don't think he'll like it."

"I knew he was around, but I heard he had a spat with the Hero of Baldur's Gate over some woman called Dynaheir," said Garrick airily. "That's why I was so unflattering, every hero needs a good nemesis to go with them! Word in the taverns is he's going to be booted out of the city."

"What?!" snapped Skie, suddenly furious. "My beloved Eldoth was only banished a week ago and the 'hero' has moved on already? To hell with that! They're not splitting up Edwin and Dynaheir. I'm getting Daddy to put a stop to this right now, in the name of true love!"

Garrick barely had time to register the sudden change in atmosphere before Skie rose to her feet and stormed from the tavern, slamming the door behind her. He sat shell-shocked at the table for a moment, before the dwarf rose to his feet and patted the young lad on his tomato-stained back sympathetically.

"Next time skip the poetry and just try buying her a drink," he said sagely. "My advice to you."


End file.
